


What the Deluminator Did

by Nixargument



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixargument/pseuds/Nixargument
Summary: When Dumbledore makes a mistake, Neville is made the Boy Who Lived instead of Harry. How will he overcome the challenges Harry faced, and who will be at his side?





	1. Chapter 1

He waited at the edge of the Forbidden Forest with a new-born boy in his arms. Dumbledore, that is. Against the dark shapes of the trees, he was, for once, not wearing the flamboyant colours he always chose; he wore robes of deep grey to blend in. He waited. She was late.

It was cold, and he jiggled the boy in his arms, for he was awake and he wanted to keep him entertained so he would not cry. The boy was silent and docile. Still he waited.

Then a shape appeared at the edge of the forest, almost hidden amongst the trees.

“Hagrid? Is that you?”

Bane the centaur stepped out into the moonlight, his arms folded, a very forbidding expression on his face.

“Yes, Bane?” Dumbledore said mildly.

“Dumbledore. What have you done?”

“Done?” he said, annoyed. “What do you mean?”

Bane leapt toward him. Dumbledore stood back in shock, and took out his wand, but the centaur’s hands came down upon him and he realised that Bane only wanted to search his robes. He was exploring every pocket, nook and cranny. Dumbledore’s heart beat in his throat. A perplexed expression was on his face.

“I did not expect such violence,” said Dumbledore, looking up at him, “when I have a little child in my arms.” Bane nodded mildly, his eyebrows raised, and he took out an object from Dumbledore’s robes.

“My deluminator. Is that what you wanted?”

“That is what I wanted. Do you know, Dumbledore, that this object can even put out the light of a star?”

Dumbledore stared at him. Bane stared back.

“I am aware of it,” said Dumbledore, stepping back, and deciding to be honest, “but not until recently, - I was turning things on and off when I noticed a star go out above me. Ah, I understand. The stars. Yes, - well, we can solve that.” He took the deluminator back, clicked it, and the light of the star he had put out reappeared.

Bane snatched it back.

“You cannot do that!” he said, rearing. Dumbledore ran some distance away, panting. He was in a truly vulnerable position. Bane called at him,

“I mean you no harm. Come and talk to me.”

“I’d rather talk from here,” called Dumbledore. “And I shall be holding my wand.” He laid the boy on a mossy bank and stood holding his wand, looking at Bane.

“Do you realise what you have done? Because you put out the light of that star, a boy was born on the wrong day. A boy named Harry Potter. He is now an orphan, and so is the boy at your feet, but he is the wrong babe! So now, _Neville Longbottom_ is to be the one!”

Dumbledore blinked, surprised, and forced out a laugh.

“It was always going to be Neville, then. I am sure you believe in fate – you do not believe in chance – so this is, apparently, meant to be. Strange! Just with a click of the deluminator!”

He was almost amused. He could not imagine anyone other than Neville Longbottom to be the Boy Who Lived, and he, like McGonagall, found Divination to be a very imprecise and shifty branch of magic. The centaurs could say what they liked, but he knew that this was the way it was meant to be. But he could not help feeling a slight niggle. Harry Potter? The other orphan? Was it possible that he _might have been,_ but for the deluminator, the Boy Who Lived? He felt that there was no reason to wonder: it was all over now.

“Leave me be, Bane!” he called. “Take the deluminator if you like – take it and go.”

Bane did. He skidded forward, took it from the ground, and bounded off into the forest.

Dumbledore shook his head in consternation.

Neville was crying. He stepped forward, sighing, and picked the boy up again. He walked toward the spot where he had been before – and saw someone walking toward him.

“Finally, Neville. Your grandmother!”

He could see her walking toward him, swaying slightly, and clearly in tears, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Augusta – ”

Augusta ignored him. She took Neville out of Dumbledore’s arms, tears streaming down her face, walked a few steps away, and apparated along with her grandson.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late night in Dumbledore’s office. He had finished preparing for the new year. He had steepled his fingers, and somehow, with his fingers steepled, was just falling into a light doze despite the chat of two of the headmasters on the wall, with one trying to wake the other up by clicking his fingers, when he heard a knock on his door.

He was dreaming about Neville Longbottom, but when he heard the knock, he snapped awake.

“Come in,” he said, surprised, shaking himself awake. Then, to the wall: “Phineas, I think Armando is asleep. No doubt he is tired of hearing you.”

Severus Snape entered the office.

“Ah, Severus,” said Dumbledore, spreading his hands as though the entire evening was open to them. He always loved to see the man. They had had many wonderful conversations together.

“I have someone with me,” said Snape, and a shadowy figure crossed the doorframe, staying just out of sight. “It is Rosmerta’s mother – Rosalind.”

“Why, what a surprise!”

Rosalind was, indeed, the mother of Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks. Her daughter had chosen a simple life, filled with fun and enjoyment. Rosalind, who was about seventy years old, was an extremely bright and immensely talented witch, who had always lived a retired life in her cottage in the countryside near Hogsmeade, privately studying and practicing magic. Dumbledore did not know her well, but had always been ready to make her acquaintance. He understood that Aberforth and she had always had an understanding between them, but he wasn’t quite sure what it consisted of. He wasn’t sure at what time in their lives they had met, but in their old age he felt they had tasted romance.

As to what Snape thought, he had never met the lady, but in their walk to Dumbledore’s office he had been struck by her no-nonsense attitude and polite, brusque answers.

“Rosalind,” said Dumbledore, craning his head toward the door, “ – do come in. It’s been a long time since I saw you last.”

“Good evening, Dumbledore,” said she, stepping in and arranging her long shawl about her shoulders. Her hair was grey and somewhat out of place, and she wore a long greyish-silver set of robes. “Indeed, it is. I don’t believe we have had any serious conversation for the last twenty years.”

Dumbledore smiled.

“Well, let us have one now. What is it that you have come to see me about?”

“Is this Professor not leaving for some reason?”

Dumbledore blinked. He blinked again. He blinked a third time, looked up at Snape, and smiled.

“Severus is welcome here.”

“Understood,” said Rosalind, with a nod at Snape.

Snape said,

“If there is any delicate matter that needs to be handled, or anything private, I will leave immediately.”

She hesitated, then immediately said,

“No, absolutely not. In fact, this matter may involve you in your capacity as a professor.”

Dumbledore asked both if they would like to sit down. They said they would. Dumbledore conjured a bar stool for Rosalind to sit on, and she laughed and sat down on it. For Snape he conjured a high-backed chair. Rosalind immediately began her story.

“You may know, or you may not, that eleven years ago I adopted a child; Rosmerta’s baby son.”

They shook their heads. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

“However, on his eleventh birthday, which was recently, no letter came.”

Dumbledore sat up in his chair. There had to be a reason for _that_. There were many reasons why Hogwarts letters did not arrive. He was very curious as to what reason it had been in this case. Muggle-borns always received their letters, because that was always their first contact with the magical world. If they were not to attend, they were always told later after they had become familiar with the idea of a magical world. But he was often contacted by angry or confused witch and wizard parents, asking why their child had not received a Hogwarts letter. Sometimes, it was that the child was a squib, sometimes, it was that it had been decided that another overseas school would better suit the child, and sometimes – rarely – it was simply a student that Hogwarts did not want. In that case, they were taught at home.

So, then, which was the case here?

“First,” Dumbledore said, raising a hand to stop Severus from explaining all of this, “I am very sorry your son did not receive a Hogwarts letter. I will certainly be able to tell you, soon, why that would have been the case. The boy has displayed magical talent?”

“Certainly,” said Rosalind earnestly, “ – he has no uncommon gift. Very strange things happen around him.”

“That is very odd,” said Dumbledore, “for _I_ feel – no, I imagine – that this student _is_ suited to _Hogwarts_ , as a school, at least. I would like to meet the boy. For the only other reason a letter is not sent, is because the child is – well, simply – we…we do not want to teach – that sort of person.”

“Yes,” said Rosalind, “but are you saying that my eleven-year-old boy, who has always shown himself to be kind and attentive, has the potential to be interested in the Dark Arts?”

Dumbledore shook his head gravely.

“I am happy to meet the boy and make a decision myself.”

“Good. I thought you would say that. Because he’s here.”

“Hello?” called Dumbledore in a rather forbidding voice, craning his head toward the door, his fingers folded on the desk.

“Hello?” called a boy’s puzzled voice back.

“Come in, if you please,” said Snape loudly and forcefully.

A boy’s face, with the utmost expression of surprised politeness, rounded the door. He stepped in, and neatly shut the door behind him.

“Good evening,” he said to the assembled company. Dumbledore stared back. The boy was tall for his age, had a very private, quiet expression, with lively grey eyes. His hair was a gentle blond colour. He waited to be spoken to.

“Good evening,” said Dumbledore, his mind starting to whirl.

The boy waited.

And waited.

Snape finally felt like he had to say something.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore and Snape at the same time. Rosalind laughed very hard. The boy looked around, puzzled, still standing in the same spot. He put his hands behind his back – old fashioned manners.

“Thank you,” said the boy.

“I suppose you overheard all of that?” asked his mother roundly.

“I did,” said Jay Cloves, for that was Rosmerta’s last name.

“And what do you think of it?” she continued, rather loudly.

“I think I would like to attend Hogwarts.”

“Why? Remember that isn’t the only option,” said Rosalind, “…I am happy to teach you at home.”

“…I…” the boy still seemed mildly presumptuous in the way he waited for everyone to speak. “Excuse me, may I be admitted to the conversation?”

Rosalind sighed.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, his eyes sparkling, “ – you already are.”

The boy was wondering at them. He didn’t feel he had been politely welcomed. He supposed, with a mind that worked like a prodigy’s, that his character was still in question. He repeated his thoughts.

“My character still seems to be in question, I see,” said he, walking toward Fawkes with interest – and then he saw a chair conjured next to Fawkes’ stand for him to sit down on. Dumbledore had waved his wand. He looked at it.

“Your favourite colour is green, is it not?” said Dumbledore. The chair had a green cushion on it.

“Yes. Thank you,” he said, sitting down and looking up at Fawkes. For some reason, Dumbledore smiled. “Your phoenix is in fine plumage. My! He looks lovely. Truly colours for a new year! Apropros of the contents of this room, I’d love to be alone with that penseive.”

Snape laughed.

“It comes from the word ‘pensive’ does it not?” said the boy. “Meaning engaged in serious or reflective thought.”

“I never thought of that,” said Dumbledore brightly. (He hadn’t.)

The boy stopped, politely waiting for somebody else to speak.

Snape spoke.

“I do not see, Headmaster, why we should not admit this – person…”

Dumbledore looked seriously at the boy. He was still gazing at Fawkes. Fawkes was looking down at him and blinking. It truly was a puzzle. Had it all been simply a mistake? Under Ministry statutes, letters were not sent out to children who had the potential to practice the dark arts, but there was another proviso – letters were also not sent out to children that the Headmaster personally did not want at the school. Dumbledore blinked, looked at Fawkes, and decided.

“He shall have a place at the school. I’m sorry – it is certain to be my own mistake. Your letter will arrive tomorrow morning. You shall have your letter like every other boy.”

As he spoke, he knew it was a mistake. The boy ought not to attend the school. There had to be a reason he had unconsciously decided against it – or the ministry had. But he wanted to give him a chance. If the ministry interfered, though, he would override the statute as Headmaster.

Rosalind nodded, satisfied.

“Well, Jay,” she said, smiling a lovely smile at him that revealed several broken teeth, as the boy reached up and stroked Fawkes calmly, “you will go to Hogwarts. Does that please you?”

“Yes!”

“Wonderful, Headmaster,” said Rosalind, standing up with rather a bustle, and shaking his hand, “I am glad the matter has been resolved. Jay, we have no more business here.”

“Wait!” said Dumbledore, standing up, having been struck by a sudden thought. “…please, this is a rather delicate matter. But I know your relationship with Aberforth has been of long standing. Is it possible that he is related to Aberforth? That might explain the matter.”

Rosalind laughed.

“No, no, I was at the birth myself. It is certainly Rosmerta’s boy.”

“I never knew Rosmerta to be…” Snape said slowly, “…attached to anyone.”

“It was an unfortunate relationship. She did not know, but the man was a Death Eater. I have no idea what sort of awful family _he_ may come from. He has never met his father, of course.”

“Of course,” said Snape, folding his arms. “Do you even know his name?”

“Humerus.”

“Ah,” said Snape, raising an eyebrow and archly turning to Dumbledore, indicating that he had something to say once they were gone. Rosalind and the boy took their leave. Dumbledore sat down.

“What is it you want to tell me, Severus,” said he.

“Only that…I have met Humerus, and he often _claims_ – or _boasts –_ that he is the son of, or somehow related by blood to Gellert Grindel…”

Dumbledore slammed his fist against the desk and screamed after the boy,

“Jay! Come back! Come back!”

Rattling footsteps were heard and the boy burst back into the room. Dumbledore, standing, stared at him. The pale blond hair – the grey, lively eyes. Slowly, Rosalind was returning up the stairs also, saying ‘what is it?’. Dumbledore knew at once. The pieces fell into the place.

“What is it?” Jay said nervously.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck at school.”

“What the headmaster means to tell you as _soon_ as he possibly can is,” sneered Snape, “that you are the grandson of Gellert Grindelwald.”

Jay shrunk back. He slipped into the shadow of the stairwell, and ran away, as fast as he possibly could. Rosalind, who had just reached the top of the stairs, and had overheard nothing, raised her arms in the air in an expression of defeat and followed her adopted son back down the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

The station. The train. Platform 9 ¾. Year 1 awaited all of the nervous young faces on the platform. Now, unlike Harry, Neville’s scar was not visible. It was on his shoulder, as though the curse had just glanced off him; really, his mother had stepped in front of him at the last moment, even while under Bellatrix Lestrange’s crucio curse. Neville didn’t know the details, however. But his imagination had filled them in, and in his mind, it was even more frightening than what really happened.

That was what Neville had to live with. Not a day went by where he did not replay the imaginary deaths through his head; not a day went by when he did not cry.

There were a lot of emotions running through the small boy as he stood on the platform. Excitement, trepidation, fascination, but mostly fear: and a lot of it. He had known all his life how famous he was, but what was worse, he had always known that he _just hadn’t been the boy people had expected him to be._ He hadn’t had the courage, the charisma, or the charm of ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and despite what people told him, his honest heart told him they were _lying._

And he just _knew_ nobody would like him once they got to know him.

In his sweaty hand he clutched Trevor so tightly that the toad let out a noise and he said,

“Sorry, Trevor!” and released him, whereupon the toad hopped out of his hand and into the pocket of his robes to softly croak himself to sleep.

He looked around wildly from behind his grandmother. He could see all sorts of people – but nobody he knew.

“It’s time to board, Neville,” said his grandmother, clutching his hand tightly and then releasing him. He looked up at her. She was looking straight down her nose at what seemed to be the top of his head. He nodded reluctantly. He didn’t want to share his worries with her. She was very strict and critical.

 _At least I won’t be as lonely here as I am at home,_ thought Neville.

“I’m…I don’t know where I’m going to sit,” he said in desperation. “I don’t like coming in when a lot of other people are there…”

“Then get on quickly, boy, and sit in an empty compartment!”

Neville thought this was such good advice that he followed it. Pushing his way clumsily to the front he ran on to the train, as his grandmother pushed his things on after him, and ran, looking in the doors of the compartments until he saw one that was empty. Feeling suffocated already, he ran in, sat down, and, completely alone, sighed and laid his head back.

After resting for a moment, he tried to lift his trunk and store it above him, but found he couldn’t; it was too heavy. He sighed and let it drop. It made an enormous noise; he cringed and sat down, and put his head in his hands.

The compartment door slid open. A boy stood there; he was tall and blond, and was looking Neville over with mild interest. He slid inside.

“Need any help?” he said, and without waiting for an answer, took out his wand and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The trunk levitated up into the overhead storage and with another flick of the boy’s wand, the door of the storage slid closed, and with another flick, the compartment doors closed. Neville’s face went white.

“You can already do magic?” he said, feeling his legs go numb and begin to quake. “I’m too afraid to even _touch_ my wand!”

The boy looked at him thoughtfully, crossed to the seat opposite and sat down. He glanced out the window. The train wasn’t moving yet. He seemed to be thinking.

“Where is your wand?” he asked.

Neville pointed at the travelling bag at his feet. The boy reached forward.

“May I?”

Neville nodded, because the boy sounded confident and assured.

The boy opened his bag and took out his wand. He unrolled Neville’s hand and placed the wand inside it, then corrected his grip. Neville laughed shakily.

“Easy enough, no?” said the boy, smiling down at Neville. “Try moving it. Just moving it. Flick it toward those doors.”

Neville dumbly shook his head. The boy kept smiling. He encouraged Neville again. Neville shook his head for the second time. Finally, the boy put his hand over Neville’s, and moved his hand for him. The doors jumped in their sockets.

“At least you know your wand works,” he said, “and at least you know things are under control. At worst, nothing would have happened, or you’d have broken the glass, or knocked down the doors.”

Neville wanted to faint at the prospect of those two things happening. He didn’t feel angry at the boy, because Neville thought he clearly knew what he was doing; Neville immediately trusted him. He thought he was like a teacher, or at least an adult; he certainly spoke like one.

“What’s your name?” said the boy, sitting down opposite Neville again, as Neville took the wand between thumb and forefinger and carefully lowered it into the bag. “You’re the first person I’ve met on the train.”

“Neville,” said Neville, “uhm…Longbottom.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. He waited for Neville to ask his name, but Neville had forgotten to return the question; he was sitting in quiet contemplation of what was to come.

“Jay Cloves,” said Jay, holding out his hand to Neville; Neville took it with a weak grip, jiggled it and then carefully released it. Jay kept his hand still.

Jay smiled.

“What are you most looking forward to at Hogwarts?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Neville quietly.

Jay leaned forward to hear him, and the answer surprised him.

“Nothing will come of nothing,” he said, quoting King Lear. “Speak again.”

Neville glanced up, surprised, and not entirely understanding what Jay had just said. He shook his head.

“I’m sure I’m going to be bad at everything. And I’m supposed to be famous – and I’m just going to disappoint everyone.”

Jay was going to reassure Neville, but suddenly the carriage door burst open and a lot of leering faces broke in.

“That’s him! That’s Neville Longbottom!”

“Wow – really him, huh?”

“Neville, can we come and sit in here?”

Neville started to stammer out a reply but Jay said loudly,

“Neville seems tired. I don’t think he’d like to answer a lot of questions, or hear any chatter.”

The commanding tone Jay used caused the children to blink at him in surprise. He sounded like a teacher. Then Jay said,

“Please leave.”

“Are you his friend?” said a girl.

Jay glanced at Neville, wanting to make friends with him. He waited for Neville to nod or shake his head. But Neville was amazed. A boy who could do magic already, and spoke like a teacher, wanted to be friends with _him_? He immediately nodded back.

“Yes,” replied Jay to the girl.

Jay went toward the compartment doors and closed them in their faces. Then he came back and sat down, beside Neville, this time. Jay looked grave, and sat with his elbows on his legs, his hands cupping his face.

“What’s the matter?” said Neville, with genuine, friendly concern.

“I wonder when this train’s going to start moving,” Jay said in annoyance, before putting his head in his hands. “No, it’s not that, Neville. It’s the fact that I’m going to be just like you, when they realise…”

“You’re going to be famous too?” asked Neville. “What for?”

“When they find out I’m a descendent of Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Oh! He knew Dumbledore, didn’t he. They duelled. And now he’s in prison.”

“Yes, I’ve never met him.”

Neville sat in silence, contemplating what that meant. Gellert Grindelwald was a famous wizard – so Jay would be like him. He’d have the same problems he had. He’d have to live up to Grindelwald’s name. People would expect _him_ to be talented, too.

“I’m glad I met you,” said Neville suddenly.

“I’m glad I met you,” said Jay, in a lower voice. He smiled shyly at Neville. “You seem like a truly kind and thoughtful person.”

Neville had never heard this about himself before, and he turned away so that Jay couldn’t see his tears of thankfulness. Jay did see them, however, and he gave Neville a hug. Neville was surprised. Boys didn’t really hug boys. But he thought it was okay.

There was a noise at the compartment door and the doors opened.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” said the witch, her sweets all piled up in front of her.

“Oh!” she continued, “are you brothers?”

“No,” said Jay, “I’ll have a box of chocolate frogs, please.”

“Me too,” said Neville immediately.

Left to their frogs, they opened them, peeling off the bright wrappers. Neville had been cheered up and his voice even started to take on a lively tone.

“Oh, Dumbledore…he looks…do you think he’s quite strict?” Neville said. He turned the card over and Dumbledore’s eyes looked toward the top of the frame with concern.

“No. He didn’t seem to be, when I met him.”

“You’ve met Dumbledore? What’s he like?”

“He’s…it’s difficult to explain,” said Jay, his face a mask. “I’ll pass on that question. Oh, who’s this wizard?” He held up his card. On it was a wizard wrapped in the many layers of robes and the sash about the waist favoured by the Israeli magical community, with large intense eyes and a great deal of greying black hair, wearing a yarmulke.

“That’s Ichabod Greengrass,” said Neville, pleased to be able to share some knowledge with his friend. “He’s a legendary duellist, and he’s the only wizard in the world who can use two wands at once. They’re apparently pretty unimpressive wands, though. Kneazle whisker cores.”

Jay popped a chocolate frog into his mouth and raised his eyebrows. He had learned a great deal about magic from Rosalind, but he’d never thought much about famous wizards.

“Why on _earth_ aren’t we moving,” said Jay, looking out the window. “I’m stunningly bored.”

“The last people are getting on now,” Neville pointed out.

The compartment door opened. An earnest little face appeared; wisps of blonde hair floated around her head, unbrushed, and she was carrying a bag with a hand-painted creature on it that was almost unidentifiable. Her blue eyes beheld them both with mild serenity.

“Hello,” she said, “can I sit here?”

“Sure,” said Neville, before Jay could say anything. The girl flopped into the seat opposite them. She gazed around at the compartment as though it was the most fascinating place she had ever been in.

“The air in here is somehow trapped,” she said.

“Er,” said Jay, “yes, would you like to open a window?”

“That’s not very nice,” said the girl, mildly, “you’re mocking me.”

“…very true,” said Jay, “I apologize. I’m Jay Cloves.”

“Oh,” she said, then, after giving him a long stare, said, “you’re like a grown-up.”

“I would like to think I am exactly the same as any other eleven-year-old.”

“No,” said the girl, “that’s not true.”

“What’s your name?” asked Neville.

“Luna Lovegood. You’re Neville Longbottom, which is nice.”

“I don’t think it’s very nice at all,” said Neville, gloomily looking down at his feet. He was stroking Trevor in his pocket with one finger. Trevor crawled out of the pocket. He hopped down and then up into Luna’s lap. Luna leant down and breathed on Trevor, which the toad seemed to enjoy. He curled up into a little ball. Luna breathed on him a few more times, which Jay leant forward to watch, and then she sat up again.

“He seemed to like that,” said Neville, but he leant forward and took Trevor back again, a little unnerved by that behaviour. Jay thought she was ludicrous.

“Animals seem to like me,” said Luna, “I just do things to them and they enjoy them.”

Jay laughed in a rather disengaged way.

“Don’t do the wrong thing to the wrong animal, however,” said Jay.

Luna was silenced. But this comment seemed to interest her, for she stared at him for about a minute afterward. She was apparently making decisions about him in her mind. Jay stared back. She smiled. He smiled back. While this was happening, the compartment doors opened, and a girl with very long black hair looked in, saw there was a seat, swirled in with her large bag and trunk, and lifted both up into the storage above. She struggled to do this, and Jay and Luna were just about to offer her help when she managed it, shut the storage, and sat down. She folded her legs under her lap, glanced at Luna, and said,

“Excuse me. May I have the window seat?”

Luna hesitated. She hadn’t been certain of whether she wanted to gaze out the window for the trip or look at what was inside the compartment, including the people. She decided on a compromise.

“Maybe you can sit on my lap,” she said, “so we can both see out the window.”

The girl’s eyes widened, surprised, and then she smiled.

“Right, then,” she said, to the surprise of Neville and Jay, and perched herself on Luna’s lap in a playful sort of way, to get her view out of the window. Luna held her around the stomach.

“The train might jolt you, so I’ll just hold you,” said Luna.

Luna’s arms closed around her waist. Then she said, surprised,

“You’re wearing a corset.”

The other girl immediately swished back into the other seat and sat combing her hair with her fingers, in what appeared to be a nervous fashion.

“A corset?” said Jay. “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Oh,” said the girl, looking over at the two boys, “my…my mother makes me wear it. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Jay, “I don’t know what the point is: an eleven-year-old wearing a corset. You’ve got no figure to train.”

The dark-haired girl looked at him with clear interest, and tilted her head. She blinked. Then she sat back, put her hands on her legs and seemed lost in her own world. Luna was smiling. There was a long silence, in which Jay sniffed. Then a thought seemed to strike Luna.

“You must be from an old wizarding family, then. They’re old fashioned.”

The girl seemed about to answer, but the train jolted and started moving. Then she said,

“Yes, I’m a – Greengrass. Daphne, to be precise.”

“That’s strange,” said Luna, “he has your father’s chocolate frog card over there, by him.” She pointed at Neville. Neville didn’t know what to do. Finally he foolishly said,

“Oh, yes, it…I mean, do you want it?”

Daphne laughed very loudly and said she didn’t.

“I look at my father every day. Even in portraits,” she said, “so no, I don’t.” Jay was laughing, but without making much sound. He didn’t want to embarrass Neville.

Jay and Daphne were clearly interested in each other for much of the train ride. Daphne was pleased that nobody had asked her if she could use two wands, and she liked Jay a lot. Jay noticed that she kept speaking of the same subjects: potions and restorative magic. He asked her if she wanted to be a healer. She said, “Yes.”

Neville and Luna sat on the floor and played gobstones. Luna kept winning, and then saying,

“Oh, I won again. Oh, I won again…I was trying to lose that time…”

Daphne snorted at the tone of her voice, but not in an unkind way. She seemed to admire Luna’s qualities. Already she felt that Luna had a wonderful sense of humour, was very gentle and kind-hearted, and quite wistful.

Neville liked Luna a lot. He was glad that the people in the compartment weren’t asking him a lot of difficult questions. He was glad that Jay had made those other people go away. But he knew that those sort of people…well, there’d be a lot of them at Hogwarts, he felt. But Jay was his friend. He saw Jay shaking hands with Daphne, and his heart sunk. Perhaps he would prefer Daphne as a friend. But Jay then stood up and came back to sit by him.

“What’s Daphne like?” said Neville. “Is she nice?”

“She’s…rather mysterious,” was Jay’s answer, and he smiled.

Neville nodded. But suddenly there was a jolt; the train had stopped, and it was evening when the students filed out of the train, some joking and laughing, some staring about nervously.

Jay stuck close to Neville. Neville appreciated that.

“Firs’ years this way!”

Everyone looked up and an man stood above them, enormous, waving a hand toward a lake that had boats roped to small docks.

“Let’s go,” said Jay, and Neville followed Jay toward the boats. As they got into one, they saw Daphne and Luna get into a boat near theirs. Jay waved at them. Neville waved too. They waved back.

When they got to the other side of the lake, Hogwarts came into view. Jay smiled at the castle. Luna threw her hands up in the air and let out a long operatic note. Daphne was leaning back, and sat up to look at it properly. Neville was silent. He felt the castle looked menacing. He didn’t like the look of it.

When he went to step out of the boat he fell face-forward into the water. Jay rushed to help him, and put his own cloak over Neville’s shoulders to keep him warm. Neville said nothing. He was too embarrassed.

They wandered forward and ended up at the top of the stairs before anyone else, because everyone else was chatting and laughing with their friends.

“Quiet, please,” said McGonagall. “I am Professor McGonagall. Welcome to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is divided into four houses. They are Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Each house has produced outstanding witches and wizards. In Hogwarts, your house will be like your family. Any outstanding behaviour will earn you house points, and any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. We would like to welcome you into the Great Hall for the feast, since you must be hungry now, and your sorting – you will be sorted into your house.”

“Oh, the hat,” said Neville, then put his hands into his pockets and realised Trevor was gone. “Wait, where’s Trevor?”

“Right here,” said Jay, picking him up off the ground and putting the toad into Neville’s hands. He smiled. Neville smiled back.

They started to move toward McGonagall’s disappearing back, when a tall, blond boy blocked their way.

“So,” he said, smirking. “It’s true. Neville Longbottom has come to Hogwarts.”

People around them started muttering and talking, and looking over each other’s heads to see him.

“And why does that require an announcement?” asked Jay in a loud, strong voice.

“What’s your name,” said the boy.

“Jay Cloves.”

“I’m Draco Malfoy. Never heard of _your_ family,” said the blond boy, and looked back at Neville, “you don’t want to go making friends with inferior people, Longbottom. I can help you there.”

Neville wasn’t sure what to do. In the end, he reached out and shook Draco’s hand because he was frightened of making a fuss.

“Good choice,” said Draco.

“I don’t really know if that means much to _me_ ,” said Jay, stepping forward and staring Draco down. “After all, I am the grandson of Gellert Grindelwald, if you didn’t know.”

Neville had no idea what his friend was doing. He wasn’t sure why he was telling anyone that.

“Oh,” sneered Draco, “ _excuse me_. But I don’t happen to believe you.”

“Ask Dumbledore.”

“You know I’m not going to ask Dumbledore such a stupid question. So, _liar._ I’ll remember you for telling one of the stupidest lies I’ve ever heard.” But his eyes looked uncertain.

“So, Neville,” said Draco, “I’ll see you at the sorting ceremony.”

Suddenly, a voice piped up from behind them.

“I know he’s Gellert Grindelwald’s grandson,” said Daphne Greengrass, stepping up toward them. “My father told me. Ichabod Greengrass.”

Draco looked completely confused, and immediately said,

“…my apologies. Hello again, Daphne.”

“Hello, Draco.”

“So you’d better – I mean, whatever you think of him, he is that,” said Daphne.

“Excuse me,” said Draco to Jay, now with a smile on his face. “I believe we got off on the wrong foot.”

“I believe we did,” Jay replied. They shook hands. Jay immediately went to Daphne.

“Why did you say that? Are you sure your father knows that?”

“No,” smiled Daphne, “but from what I got to know about you on the train, I don’t think you’d lie about something like that.”

The small crowd of children followed McGonagall into the great hall, and the doors closed.


End file.
